


Blessed Are The Gentle

by CastielsCarma



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 15x18 coda, Because he's in the Empty you know, Despair, Destiel is canon, M/M, MCD is Cas, but there is hope, not a fix it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:27:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27481201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CastielsCarma/pseuds/CastielsCarma
Summary: Dean tries to deal with the aftermath of Cas confessing that he loves him, only to die right in front of his eyes.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 21
Kudos: 121
Collections: Destiel is Canon - 15x18 Codas, SPN Finale "Destiel is CANON" Collection





	Blessed Are The Gentle

**Author's Note:**

> Edited so and so. I'm tired. 
> 
> This is a coda for 15x18. It's not a fix-it, but I hope it will inspire hope. To fight, live, and never give up on those you love. It takes place immediately after the ending of "Despair."
> 
> (I firmly believe that Cas is not dead, he will return. And while I don't think that Dean will address that Cas confessed his love to him in episode 19 I'm confident that he *will* have a chance to say it back to Cas. And if he doesn't, I'll cry about it then.
> 
> Hope you enjoy and thank you for reading and commenting. I appreciate you. Always.

Dean ambles out of the room but he hasn't been able to swipe and answer Sam's calls. He can't. He shoves his phone in his back pocket and wipes at his eyes again. They're red and swollen and he's fucking drained.

Somehow he manages to make it back to his room.

There's a rock, no, a boulder lodged in his throat and no matter how many times he swallows, it's still there pressing down. He sobs again and ignores the phone that's started to vibrate again. He fishes it out and tosses it on the nightstand table.

The bed feels cold but Dean lies down anyway, trying to calm down. He closes his eyes.

_Everything you have ever done, the good and the bad, you have done for love. You raised your little brother for love._

Dean opens his eyes.

The phone rings again. He doesn't need to check it to know it's Sam. He turns his back to it and stares at the wall.

_You fought for this whole world for love. That is who you are._

He can't take it. Dean gets up and starts pacing inside his room. How could Cas keep this a secret? How could he not tell him?

_Because you cared, I cared, I cared about_ you _. I cared about Sam, I cared about Jack. But I cared about the whole world because of you. You changed me, Dean._

Dean feels anger break through the sadness and shock and for a brief moment he welcomes it. He stokes it and revels in how it chases everything else away. It makes the world sharper. He was angry. He _is_ angry. At Chuck, at fate, at fucking everything that has pushed him around his entire life. Ever since he was born. God. Billie. The Empty. The angels.

Angels.

Cas.

_I love you._

Dean's anger melts away and he sinks down on the floor.

Tears well up in his eyes again, literally in seconds and his sorrow is an ocean that can't be contained. Why didn't Cas tell him? They could have-- Instead, the dumb idiot went and made a deal. Dean wipes at his face and breathes heavily.

With sudden alarm, he realizes that he still has the jacket on. He turns and looks at the bloody handprint. His hand goes to where the old handprint was on his shoulder, where Cas touched him and saved him from Hell. One mark dried up and coarse on his jacket, the other mark on his soul the second Cas saved him.

Dean hears the sound of footfalls coming from outside and voices.

“They're here, Jack!”

Dean sucks in a sharp breath. Pain stabs him in the side, maybe it's a bruised rib but that's nothing. _They._ Sam thinks it's them, the two of them. Dean swallows and wipes at his face.

“Dean?! You in here?”

Dean exhales and clears his throat, “Yeah”, right as Sam flings the door open and marches inside.

“What the hell, Dean? Why didn't you answer your phone? I thought – “ Sam exhales harshly and stops to look at Dean.

Dean sighs. He wants to close his eyes and sleep. He's so tired.

_I love you._

“You alright? Are you hurt?” Sam looks at him, concerned.

“Yeah.” He can't even look at Sam, so he stares at the floor. He can see a dustmote swirl near his closet. He doesn't bother to clarify what the answer stands for.

Sam clears his throat. “Dean... they're gone.”

“I know, Sam, I know.” He looks past Sam and sees Jack. 

He stands in the doorway, stares at Dean. He can see Jack's question in how his eye bore into him and Jack's own conclusion when his eyes flit down to the floor.

There is silence so Dean looks up at Sam, his eyebrows drawn down in a frown.

“How did you know?”

Dean blinks again. Everything is muted and distorted. He has to concentrate. Sam isn't asking about Cas, because he doesn't know. His throat constricts.

It's like the very thought makes Sam realize that Cas isn't there.

Sam speaks softly now but Dean loathes the concern in his voice. “Dean... where's Cas?”

He can't say it, he can't or he'll lose his mind.

Sam kneels down and is about to touch Dean on the shoulder, on _that_ shoulder. Dean flinches, visibly recoils. “He – uh – “

He looks over at Jack, who stands there, still frozen. “He is – gone. The Empty... “ It took him.”

_I love you._

“I don't understand, Dean.”

“Cas made a deal with the Empty. For me.”

Jack speaking is a blessing. And a curse. A blessing because he doesn't have to say it, doesn't have to think about Cas vanishing in front of his eyes. A curse because Jack will say it and it will be real.

_I know what's real. We are._

Dean clenches his teeth to stop the moan of utter despair that wants out. He hardens his heart but he can't, he can't. All this time, Cas has _loved him._ Through the good and the bad and the fucking awfully bad. _Cas loves him._

“Dean.”

Sam's voice is filled with compassion and Dean wants to fucking hide. He shakes his head.

He touches Dean carefully, like he's a hurt animal – avoiding the shoulder – and speaks softly. “You loved him.” It's not a question.

Dean can't speak. He can't say it.

“We'll find a way, that's what we do. I have to believe that.”

Dean thinks about Eileen.

Sam pauses. “The others are gone too. Chuck wiped them out.”

He looks up then. Chuck, the Empty, Billie. All playing with their lives, with everyone's lives like nothing mattered. Like they were chess-pieces on a board being shuffled around. Pawns didn't matter. Pawns didn't have opinions, pawns didn't have friends. Pawns didn't love.

Dean has to go.

He gets up suddenly and stops to look at Jack.

Jack looks grief-stricken.

Dean grabs his shoulder. Forces himself to smile and nods. He wants to say that they'll get Cas back, that everything will be alright, that they'll beat this.

He squeezes Jack's shoulder once and walks out.

Cas' room is just as he remembers it. His eyes flit down to Cas' bed, to the chair and the wardrobe. It's a small room but Cas has still made it his own.

A picture of Jack, some goddamn rock he said was important – I _know rocks and this rock was very instrumental during Earth's transitional stage from one single continent into many_ – a small library with Cas' favorite books.

Dean opens the small drawer at the bedside table and there it is; the mixtape. His fingers ghost over it but he can't take it. It's Cas' mixtape. _It's a gift. You keep those._

Cas' bed is not made.

Dean trails his hands over the covers, splays his hands on the sheet. It's cold.

He exhales and walks over to the library. His fingers dance over the ridges of books, some titles he knows, some he doesn't but they are all books Cas loved.

Something sticks out from a book. He grabs the book and accidentally knocks another book to the floor. Turning the book in his hand around, Dean reads the title. _Love is my savior. The Arabic poems by Rumi._ He swallows as heat rushes through him. It's the unpleasant kind that makes his shirt cling to his back.

He pulls out the thin piece inside the book and realizes it's a photo.

A photo of Cas. Of _them_. Dean pressing his shoulder to Cas' as they smile into the camera. They have their FBI- suits on and the cowboy hats. Dean took the picture sure but he didn't realize that Cas had printed it out.

Carefully, he takes the photo and slides it in his pocket before putting the book back on the shelf.

Dean bends down and picks up the second book. It's a Bible. It's landed so the pages are divided. It looks like wings taking flight.

Showing a thumb in between Dean flips it. Gospel of Matthew. What the hell did he know about God? God was a lie, worse than that. God was a fucking monster. His thumb is right at a verse. Matthew 5:5.

    
    _Blessed are the gentle, for they shall inherit the earth._

Gentle.

Dean swallows hard.

Gentle.

Screw gentle. He'd be strong. But he would show controlled strength. He wouldn't let his anger guide him. His heart lurches. He's been angry for so long.

No. Dean would be strong and controlled. And he'd get Cas back somehow. He doesn't shove the grief and anger and disbelief away. No. He stokes it, fans the flames until the fire is roaring again, until it burns.

He closes the Bible and places it back on the shelf. He can still feel the photo burning in his pocket. Cas' handprint on his jacket burns.

He burns _._ Dean burns with a desire to live, to be free, to live and laugh and do whatever the hell he wants.

He burns with love for Cas.

Dean walks out of Cas' room, back to Sam and Jack.

They will find a way. They always do. He will get Cas back.


End file.
